


Evergreen

by Sioux



Series: Evergreen [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux





	Evergreen

Evergreen I  
(Dust in the Wind)

 

Don’t own these characters, just letting them out to play.  
Established relationship  
Warnings: Spoilers for “Devil’s Trap” and “In My Time of Dying”  
Feedback: gratefully received at Sioux_s@hotmail.com

********************

 

The scratches stung cold; icy, bone achingly cold.

“You OK?” Sam asked his brother.

Dean nodded, his face set and pale.

“I’m going to pull over. We need to get cleaned up,” Sam said.

“Put some miles between us and that thing first,” Dean replied.

Sam nodded and put his foot down. 

 

Christmas Eve in the middle of nowhere and they’d barely escaped with their lives this time. But that was luckier than the five others the demon had killed and fed from. The car shuddered as it hit sixty five then settled again. Ever since the rebuild after the crash, it always did that when they got between sixty and sixty seven. Beside him Dean winced. Or Sammy thought it was a wince, in amongst the violent shivering it was hard to tell. He leaned over and turned the heating up, hitching the lever as high as it would go.

“How you doing?” Sam asked, keeping his attention on the freezing road.

“OK,” Dean lied.

“The bleeding stopped?”

Dean took his hand away from the sleeve of his coat. In the darkness the blood appeared black and slick through the slashed sleeve. It made a sluggish trail down the leather of his jacket.

“It’s slowing.”

Sam was feeling the cold too and he’d only received a small injury from the claws of the red demon. Dean’s arm was striped from shoulder to wrist; his shivering attesting to how badly he was affected. Not even the heater belting out hot air warmed the brothers. Sam knew that they needed to get the scratches cleaned of the infernal poison before their bodies froze to death.

Up ahead Sam spotted a lay-by. He steered the car in and applied the hand brake. Beside him Dean’s head nodded on his neck, he was already sliding into the sleep of hypothermic death. Reaching into the back seat, thanking the gods for his long arms, Sam grabbed a bottle of holy water from his bag and poured it over Dean’s arm. It foamed and steamed as it hit the poison in his brother’s flesh. With the dregs he anointed his own arm, hoping it would be enough. He could feel himself sliding into sleep. With the last of his conscious thoughts he pulled a blanket from the back seat, draping it over Dean then pulling him close into his arms. Outside large, soft petals of snow began to fall, settling over the frost hardened ground and the car, brightening the darkness. Sam watched some of the flakes as they landed on the windshield. Slowly he leaned forward and switched off the headlights, leaving the engine running. He knew they were dying. Without the heat from the engine they would die quickly, with the heat they may survive for a couple of hours, deeply unconscious, before succumbing to the soul chilling cold generated by the weather outside and the tide of poison within. Sometime the next evening, if no-one found them first, the red demon would pick up their trail; follow their blood scent and find them. Both of them should keep it occupied, feeding from them, for several days. Long enough to keep the good people of Griswold, Connecticut, safe over the Christmas and possibly the New Year period.

A particularly beautiful snow crystal landed in Sam’s eye line. He appreciated the symmetry of its form before it became translucent then melted, running down the glass to blend in with the rest of its liquefied brethren. Sam swallowed hard hugging Dean to him trying to impart some of his rapidly dwindling body heat to his beloved brother.

“I’m sorry Dean,” he whispered, laying his cheek down on the short, spiky hair. His eyes drifted closed, joining his brother in their last fatal sleep.

 

Faintly over the snow induced stillness a clock could be heard beginning to chime midnight. Behind the car a black cloud spilled out of the darkness, it spiralled, twisting and turning, thickening and becoming solid. The man so revealed sighed, his breath turning to vapour in the frigid air. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his coat, walking forward towards the driver’s side of the car, his footsteps crunching on the frozen ground leaving faint imprints in the snow. In the few seconds he’d become solid flakes of snow decorated his dark hair, some of them landing on his eye lashes and collecting about the shoulders and collar of his coat. He leaned down and looked in through the window. Sam and Dean were still leaning against each other, the engine idling softly.

“You cut it fine!” he growled.

A smooth, clipped English accent drifted from the darkness.

“Then don’t waste time, John Winchester.”

John shot a fulminating look into the darkness and yanked open the car door. Sam was leaning across the bench seat, not leaving enough room for John to get into the car. He pushed against Sam but he didn’t move far enough, Dean was propping him up at the far side. Straightening up John stared into the night, his eyes finding the shadow still there, still watching him with inscrutable hazel eyes.

“Well?” he said his tone less than polite.

A brief flick of the shadow’s hand and the two young men were moved together across the bench seat, leaving room for John to get into the car.

“Thank you,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. He got in and slammed the door.

“Don’t mention it,” the voice replied coolly to a cloud of swirling snow as the car pulled back onto the road.

 

John floored the car taking little account of the icy snowy conditions. His control of the car was perfect. Deep down, he was conscious of a little flash of pleasure. It may have been the best part of a year since he’d driven but he hadn’t forgotten how.

Twenty minutes later he took a right turn onto a single track rutted road. Here he did slow down, more in deference to the suspension than the rapidly worsening weather. He parked the car in front of a darker square and turned off the engine. The pitch dark made no difference to him, he could see perfectly. He reached out and touched his youngest son, allowing his hand to rest on Sam’s shoulder for a second.

“You’re wasting time, John,” the voice said from the back seat.

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do,” he replied, not taking his eyes off his children. He pushed Sam’s hair back from his face, seeing how pale the younger man’s skin had become. A click sounded in the dark outside as the door to the cabin swung open. He blinked, from habit not necessity, as flickering light spilled out onto the snow. Taking a last look at his sleeping sons John got out of the car, throwing over his shoulder as he entered the cabin,

“Bring them in,” then he added, “Their bags too.”

His answer was an annoyed long sigh.

John had pulled the sofa in front of the fire blazing in the hearth and piled blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fire too by the time the demon appeared; his sons supported invisibly in an upright position, their feet trailing on the floor. The demon placed their bags to the side of the fireplace. John straightened up, waiting in silence.  
The shadow and the former man faced each other across the intervening distance. The blankets at John’s feet twitched and moved aside as Dean was laid down in front of the fire, the blankets covering him. Sam was placed in a seated position on the sofa, his head leaning back, a blanket settling over him. The door shut itself as the shadow left the cabin.

John knelt and searched through the bags looking for the bottle he knew was in there. Finding it he next took Dean’s ruined jacket off him, taking care not to jostle his arm too much. Gently he slid the ripped shirt off as well then trailed the cool water down the scratch marks. The water foamed a little, but not too much. Covering Dean again, he stroked his short hair, taking the opportunity to look his fill. The he straightened up and moved to Sam. Taking off his youngest son’s jacket he pushed his shirt away from the gashed arm and ran the water down from his elbow to his wrist, taking note of which areas foamed. When the bubbles stopped he capped the bottle using his own shirt sleeve to soak up the excess. Searching his coat pocket he pulled out a cloth bag and made his way to the small kitchen. The demon had also lit the wood burning stove here as well as the fire in the main room. John worked the pump and filled the kettle with water. Taking out two mugs he waited for the water to boil. He divided the leaves in the cloth bag between the mugs then scalded them with the hot water. He opened cupboard doors until he found a jar of honey. Sweetening both drinks he put the jar away and took the mugs into the main room, putting them down on a table at the side of the sofa. Sitting down he put his arm around Sam, settling him so his son’s head rested against his shoulder. Placing a soft kiss on the top of his head John spoke,

“Sam. Sammy, can you hear me?”

Sam didn’t respond so John continued to speak softly about anything and everything making sure he used Sam’s name often.

 

Sam started to wake, he still felt cold but not quite as bad as before. A familiar smell drifted to him; his brain translated the scent to safety and comfort. He moved his head. He was lying on something warm and solid, a dark brown voice enveloping him letting him float in some in-between world, not quite asleep and not quite awake. After a short while in this pleasant state he began to remember. There was something he should remember about that voice but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He listened more carefully.

The voice was telling a story about a Christmas tree and how a child called Dean had been fascinated with all the coloured lights and baubles decorating it. Slowly Sam opened his eyes. He looked around blearily. The room was warm, lit only by a roaring fire in the grate.

“Dad?” he said confused, suddenly connecting the scent and the sound of the voice together to make one whole.

“Dad!” he repeated in wonder.

“Hello Sammy.” His father smiled down at him, hugging him closer.

“Am I dreaming?”

John shook his head.

“I’m dead?”

“No,” he smiled, “You’re not dead.”

“We burned your body.”

“The right thing to do.”

Sam was very confused.

“Don’t worry about it Sam. I get to come back at certain times for you boys. This is one of the times.”

Sam looked deep into his father’s dark eyes.

“It really is me,” John said gently and accurately reading his son’s expression.

And Sam knew he was telling the truth. Somehow this really was his Dad, back from beyond the grave. The next minute he had his arms locked around his father’s neck and was sobbing his heart out.

“Sam, oh Sammy!” John said sadly, hugging his son, a tear tracking down his face and soaking into Sam’s hair.

“I’ve missed you,” Sam hiccoughed.

They’d both had a bad time dealing with John’s death. Dean had gone off the rails and Sam had desperately missed the presence of the older man. He felt they’d just begun to really connect after all the time they’d spent arguing with each other in earlier years. To have his father and that new understanding ripped away had hurt more than Sam had believed possible.

 

For his part John didn’t attempt to stop Sam’s tears, he let him cry. It took a while but eventually Sam cried himself out. When he sensed his tears getting less, John leaned over and picked up one of the mugs, which was cool enough to drink now. He offered it to his son.

Sam took a sip and made a face.

“You need to drink it Sammy. It’ll purge the poison from your system.”

Taking a deep breath Sam drank the potion down, nearly gagging on the bitter taste.

“Help me sit Dean up, he needs to drink this as well,” John said putting the other cup on the floor. Between them they got Dean into a semi-seated position so that Sam could support him and John could pour the liquid into his mouth. Dean coughed and spluttered but drank.

“Sam,” he muttered.

John was about to answer when Sam held up his hand and shook his head.

“Yeah, it‘s me Dean.”

“So tired,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Drink up then you can go back to sleep,” Sam said.

Obediently Dean began to drink instead of letting the tea dribble from his lips. When he’d finished John settled him back down under the blankets, covering him well, letting the fire’s heat and the tea take care of the poison. He moved the cup and sat on the sofa, holding out his arms to Sam who flowed to his side. 

 

Sam couldn’t ever remember being held like this, even when he had been a child. It had generally been Dean who had looked after him, and young brotherly love didn’t usually come with hugs which for Sam wasn’t ideal; he loved to be touched.

“I didn’t have much time for showing my sons how much I love them, just got so obsessed after Mary passed,” John said, reading his thoughts effortlessly. “Guess I lost sight of the fact I’m your father, left Dean to be your parent. Put you both through an unhappy childhood and for that I’m truly sorry.”

Sam raised his head and patted John’s chest.

“No. It wasn’t unhappy. I can’t say agree with everything you did, but I knew we were loved.”

“I should have been there for you both more. I made Dean grow up so fast so he could take care of you. I never even tried to give you a normal life.”

“Define normal,” Sam replied.

John’s lips quirked up in a small smile.

“Where you are, are you with Mom?” Sam asked softly after a few minutes silence.

John shook his head.

An idea was tickling the back of Sam’s mind but it was just out of reach for him.

“Why?”

“Just the way things work out sometimes.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Before Sam asked,

“When I was asleep, were you talking about Christmas trees?”

John nodded.  
“Tell me again?” Sam asked.

This time John’s smile lit up his face as he looked down at his eldest son laying at their feet in front of the fire.

“When Dean was a toddler he loved Christmas trees,” he began. 

 

After Sam had finished laughing quietly at the images his Dad was painting for him they both fell quiet.

“Sam, why didn’t you want Dean to know I’m here?”

Sam was silent for a while then he began speaking hesitantly.

“After you…died. Dean… Dean didn’t cope well. He made some bad decisions.”

“And now?”

“Never thought I’d say this about him but he’s vulnerable now. I’m afraid if he has to lose you again, he might not…” Sam’s voice trailed off.

“He has you to keep him together Sam,” John said quietly. “But if you think that’s the best thing to do, I won’t let him see me.”

Sam nodded and smiled his thanks, leaning his head against John’s shoulder again. John was stroking his hair, the sensation soothing Sam’s raw emotions.

“Dad, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask, I might not be able to answer.”

“What did you tell Dean when he found you on the floor?”

John sighed.

“If Dean wants you to know, he’ll tell you,” he finally replied.

Sam raised his head.

“Something I needed to tell Dean before I left, that’s all,” John admitted. “It’s not a need to know, nothing like that Sam.”

Sam nodded his understanding. Sam felt John was finally treating them like the adults they were, that new and fragile understanding letting him see things from John’s point of view as well as his own.

 

Despite his best intentions, Sam fell asleep as dawn was breaking on Christmas morning.

From the last grey shadows of night the demon stepped forward. It held out its hand imperiously to John.

“Settle Sam first,” John whispered.

The demon inclined its head. John let his arms drop as his youngest son was carefully and tenderly picked up by the demon and settled under the blankets behind his brother on the floor. He then stood and made his way over to the demon his solidity dissolving the closer he got, becoming invisible to human eyes. John and the demon could be neither seen nor heard now although they could see and hear humans.

Dean turned over and cuddled close to Sam. As John turned to follow the demon Dean leaned forward and kissed Sam on the lips - in a very un-brotherly fashion. The demon waited a beat so John had plenty of time to assimilate the sight in front of him before saying maliciously,

“Happy Christmas, John Winchester.” 

John slowly turned to look at the demon. Despite the tears running down his cheeks because he was having to leave his sons again, he first started to smile, then to laugh out loud. Finally he said,

“You think I didn’t know those two been knocking boots?”

The demon took a step back.

“You didn’t know,” John repeated, his laughter stopping, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Your time is up, John Winchester,” the demon replied coldly, before disappearing.

John took one last look at his sons, his expression absorbed. In its wish to hurt John the demon had inadvertently given him an interesting piece of information; it didn’t know all that he knew and it obviously couldn’t read all his thoughts. John stored this news away for a future time. He knew he had to be careful and pick the battles he could win. The demon was bound by the terms of their agreement but there was nothing in that agreement which would stop it making John’s afterlife as unpleasant as it chose.

 

Dean woke a little more and looked at Sammy, who smiled sleepily at him.

“I was dreaming of Dad all night,” Dean said, his voice raspy and hoarse.

“Nice dreams?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “I was dreaming about Christmas when I was about two, I tried to climb the Christmas tree. Dad had to pull me out from under when it toppled over on me.”

“Good memories,” Sam said softly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied smiling, looking into his brother’s eyes.

“Then I came along and spoiled it all.”

“No!” Dean took a breath. “No,” he said more quietly. “Never that.”

Sam looked into his brother’s eyes and saw the truth there. Dean didn’t blame him for the kind of life he’d had to lead. He leaned in and kissed Dean then held him tight. As he did so his eyes caught the outline of his father in the shadows. John stepped forward into the light briefly becoming solid again and smiled.

“I love you both,” he mouthed to Sam then stepped back into the shadows, his form reverting to a cloud of spinning particles which quickly dispersed.

As he watched the spirit of his father leaving Sam began to shake with the effort of holding back his tears.

“Sam?” Dean said pulling away so he could see Sam’s face.

“I miss him. I miss him so much,” he told Dean softly.

“Me too, Sam,” Dean replied, holding his brother tightly.

“Me too.”

He kissed Sam and stroked along his arms and ribs, making long, slow, sensuous love to him, just the way he knew Sam liked it.

On the edge of sleep, after Dean’s breathing had evened out, an idea popped into Sam’s head. Vaguely he wondered if their father had made a deal with the demon, something which involved a swap - his life for theirs, or rather his life for Dean’s; Dean had revived from the coma when John was dying. Sam opened his eyes wide. That idle thought fit the facts as he knew them very well. 

Dean snuffled in his sleep effectively stopping Sam from leaping out of their makeshift bed and getting his laptop. Settling back down Sam saw the cups and decided he had to get rid of those before Dean noticed them. Rehearsing a story in his head of how he had found this place and dragged Dean and their bags in to keep warm he made himself comfortable again, vowing to himself to check every piece of research he could lay his hands on about making deals with demons. As a would-be lawyer, Sam was of the opinion that any contract had loopholes - if you knew where to look.

 

Dust in the Wind

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone  
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity  
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind.  
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea  
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind

[Now] Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky  
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy.

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind  
Dust in the wind; everything is dust in the wind.

Lyrics Kansas

 

© Sioux 19/10/06


End file.
